


Conversations with the not so dead

by The_Sithspawn



Series: The Raven's Plan [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Companion Piece, Gen, Minor Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sithspawn/pseuds/The_Sithspawn
Summary: Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.





	1. Septa Mordane I

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I've had this in mind for a while now, these will be just short conversations (though this one is longer than I expected:l ) between two or three characters, most probably minor characters. I didn't add them to the main story because they would break up the flow of the main story arc. Anyway, hope you all enjoy them! :) BTW updates will not be as regular as the main story.  
> Characters tags will be added and updated with each chapter.

**Septa Mordane I**

 

Only two days since everything had happened, and she was always wearing a perpetual frown. So much had changed since...she shuddered, that magic filled night. One moment she staring the Stranger in the face; Lannister men and their swords, waiting to return to the embrace of the Seven. And then...she was back, awakening with a shock in the Sept in Winterfell. And the beginning of insanity of that night and the violence, Robb savagely beating Theon.

 

Theon was an Ironborn and deserved that and much more for for his people's sinful ways. And then Hodor...

 

She shuddered fearfully, the Seven said that magic was to be scorned and sinful. No true follower of the Seven would so consort with evil powers and sweet little Bran was so accursed now. She shuddered again.

 

The disturbing shocks plagued her as she was walking down the hall in the family wing, she had to speak to Sansa about her actions. They were all changed by the magic, but that was no excuse for the girl to miss her prayers. She could do with a proper talking to now. Now more than before, Sansa needed to trust in the judgment and justice of the Father. The Seven would see them through these magic accursed times.

 

She uttered a silent prayer, asking the Father's protection and the Crone's wisdom in these trying times.

 

She reached Sansa's door and knocked, calling out, “Sansa!”

 

“Come!” called out Sansa from inside.

 

Septa Mordane entered and closed the door behind her. She stopped suddenly as she was surprised by the room. It was in complete disarray, the bed was almost completely covered in dresses and Sansa's direwolf pup was sleeping nestled in a nest of scrunched up and unfolded dresses. Her needles and sewing was thrown across her dresser. It was all very much out of character for the organized girl she knew.

 

Her frown deepened, as she reprimanded the girl, “Sansa! What is going on? A Lady must always keep her room orderly and clean! Have you forgotten all I've taught you? A highborn lady must always be tidy!”

 

Sansa stared at her an unreadable expression on her face, before her face surprisingly hardened, “I have forgotten _nothing,_ ” the girl answered tersely. Her voice had a hard and unforgiving edge to it Septa Mordane had never heard before.

 

 _The gall of the girl! Has she forgotten everything that I taught her?!_ She thought incensed by the tone and the words. This defiance was something she expected from Arya, but never from Sansa. 

 

Septa Mordane gave her a disappointed frown, “There will be time enough for you to clean this up after the evening prayer. Now more than ever we should be giving our thanks for this second chance. Come along you will join me in the Sept, now. ”

 

Sansa laughed in her face and Septa Mordane recoiled in surprise at the harshness of the laughter.

 

The laughter stopped, Sansa's voice was just as harsh and unforgiving, “It was Bran who did this. The gods played _no_ part in it. The gods do not listen to our prayers. Take solace if you can with them, but I will have no part in it any more. I will not waste my time. I already have too much that _must_ be done,” Sansa retorted with a derisive snort.

 

“That is _blasphemy_ child!” Sept Mordane cried out aghast, chiding Sansa harshly, “The gods have always looked out for us. Insolent child, I don't know where these strange thoughts have come from-”

 

“ _Enough!_ I am _not_ a child. I have not been one for _far_ too long.” Sansa's words cut through her and held such authority that Septa Mordane found herself going silent, despite herself. Sansa's eyes were hard icy blue chips that brokered no argument. “You over step your place, Septa!”

 

Septa Mordane opened her mouth to retort but Sansa cut her off harshly with a gesture and hard look.

 

“You will listen and then you will leave and see to your other duties, I do not have time to give you honeyed words...so many evil things happened to me after I died,” Sansa's tone was as harsh as Lord Stark's when he was angry, “Cersei and Joffrey were my first tormentors.” An angry growl came from Sansa's bed and Septa Mordane saw Lady sitting up and growling in her little nest. “Among the many things that Joffrey did was to show me _your head_ sitting on a spike next to _father's_.” There was rage in Sansa's eyes now. Lady's growling was louder now.

 

Septa Mordane's stomach turned queasy as Sansa spoke of the Septa's own head on a spike. _Gods be good...to show a child her own father's head! Such a beastly thing to do!_ She unconsciously rubbed at her own neck.

 

“...all that paled in comparison to what Ramsay Bolton did to me. Lord Baelish sold me to the Boltons and Ramsay married me. And _every_ single night he _raped_ me. He made Theon stand and _watch_.”

 

Her face cracked as Sansa spoke of what Ramsay did to her and that damned Ironborn's own duplicitous part in it. The horror she felt was limitless and dark.

 

“...Ramsay did such _things_ to Theon...” Sansa paused and shuddered with such revulsion on her face, Lady had stopped growling and seemed to be whimpering now. When she spoke again, her tone held such a tone of bleakness, “I _never_ knew or imagined that _that_ could happen to a person...he's wasn't _Theon_ anymore. Ramsay _made_ him _Reek_...he was just _Reek_.”

 

Septa Mordane couldn't find her voice. The sorrow she felt for Sansa's plight rising.

 

“...I escaped, I joined with _Jon_ , and we took _back_ Winterfell from Ramsay...but not before he _murdered_ Rickon. Ramsay was a beast, with equally monstrous hounds, he liked to feed them human flesh. _Living_ human flesh.” Sansa paused letting the full implications of her words hit Septa Mordane.

 

She didn't know which part she felt more horrified about. Poor Rickon! This Ramsay sounded more and more like something out of Old Nan's horribly inappropriate stories.

 

Sansa paused, giving a Septa Mordane a very calculating and cold look, “We captured Ramsay. Jon beat him senseless. He was our prisoner, and I waited for him to start to awaken. He was bloody and bleeding as I had been him brought to the kennels. I had him tied to a chair, and I made sure he was awake and talking, _before_ I released his starving hounds.”

 

Septa Mordane's mind fled her as she realised what sweet Sansa innocent had done. Sansa was still speaking and she couldn't immediately follow all the words in her shock and sudden despair.

 

“...You still think me a child...I have no time for your _nonsense_ , I have survived more than you could imagine, seen and had done to me more than is right. I may look like a child again, but I am a woman _grown_. And now...I have more important things to deal with than an _errant_ Septa,” her tone held such a tone of contempt and authority that shocked Septa Mordane.

 

Septa Mordane was more startled when Sansa suddenly stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Sansa's hard and unrecognizable face softened and she gave her a tired smile. Sansa reached out and cupped Septa Mordane's face tenderly, “In our last life, you tried to protect me, and paid for it with your life. That is not something that I can forget and for as long as you remember your _place_ , you will be _welcome_ in Winterfell...but I am not the little girl you knew. I am a Stark of Winterfell...and Winter is Coming. I am a wolf...and my teeth are _very_ sharp. Forget it and underestimate me at your own _risk_ ,” Sansa finished with a finality of tone that left no space for argument.

 

Septa Mordane knew a dismissal when she heard it...but she couldn't find her voice as she stared at this creature wearing innocent little Sansa's flesh. She nodded in fear. She fled from Sansa's room with what little composure she had left.

 

_I have to speak with Lady Stark!_ She must deal with this...this  _perversion_ ! Lady Stark has always been sensible about these... _issues_ . Lady Stark is a good and proper follower of the Seven, she'd know what needs to be done.

 


	2. Jory Cassel I

**Jory Cassel I**

 

Jory knocked on the door of Lord Stark's solar and waited. 

 

He was on edge...along with the rest of Winterfell. The entire night and the strangeness of it all was bewildering. The scene in the great hall was stupefying, he'd heard the screams and had come running, expecting to find a bloody murder. 

 

He  _ hadn't _ expected to to find Robb straddling Theon, beating him senseless and bloody. Jon Snow had arrived at the same time. Jon had promptly tackled Robb driving to the ground and off of Theon. They'd struggled for a moment before Robb had recognized Jon. Even then Robb had been red in the face and enraged. Jory had never since Robb like this before. Nor had he know Robb  _ possessed _ such rage.

 

Things had descended into madness after that as Robb screamed out impossible things and roaring about Theon betraying them. He screamed more obscenities at Theon and tried to jump on the prone Theon again intending to  _ finish _ what he had started.

 

That had finally shocked Jory out of his stupor. The look in Robb's eyes had scared him when he finally saw them. They left no doubt about how  _ final _ Robb intended to finish things. Robb's eyes had become the eyes of a killer. The green boy he had known had disappeared and been replaced with someone who had killed before.

 

Jory had jumped forward, grabbing Robb from one side as Jon grabbed him from the other. Things descended into further chaos as people began to crowd around him. As the crowd gathered and watched, half of them had started  _ cheering _ Robb on.

 

Jory shook his head trying to clear it, so much had happened in so little time, his head was spinning. He didn't even want to think about what his Uncle had tried to  _ do _ or  _ said _ afterwards. 

 

Never mind the thing with Hodor!

 

Cutting into his revere came Lord Stark's voice, “Come!” he called out gruffly from behind the closed door of the solar.

 

Jory's mind turned back to present as he entered the Lord of Winterfell's solar. He found Lord Stark standing in the middle of his solar, with a frustrated and grim look on his face. Lady Catelyn stood with him and her expression wasn't any better...in fact it looked much  _ worse _ . A myriad mix of emotions stained her face, most prominently;  _ despair _ .

 

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark,” he nodded respectfully at his liege Lord and Lady.

 

“Yes, Jory?” prompted Lord Stark.

 

“Ser Rodrick is questioning the people as commanded and Theon has been confined to his quarters. I've placed trustworthy guards at his door. No one can enter without your permission, _especially_ Ser Rodrick.” He paused a moment before adding gravely, “But the people are still very... _unsettled_.”

 

Lord Stark nodded back grimly, he turned to Lady Catelyn, “We will finish this  _ later _ . Go settle the people, they must know that we have a handle on this...this  _ return _ .”

 

Lady Catelyn nodded unhappily, she looked like she wanted to add something before decided against it. She left without a word.

 

Lord Stark watched her leave, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment before turning to Jory. He still had a grim expression on his face which softened after a moment. 

 

Lord Stark came up to Jory and grasped his shoulder, “After all that has happened, it is good to see you again, Jory.” 

 

The turmoil in Jory's stomach continued, his uncle- after calming down,  _ somewhat _ , had embraced him and said disturbing things to him that Jory hadn't wanted to believe. He'd said that Jory gone to King's Landing with Lord Stark and none of them had returned. He didn't know how Jory had died, but he did know how Lord Stark had been executed by the Queen's bastard, Joffrey...and wasn't that a whole other shock!

 

Jory hadn't wanted to believe him, but Lord Stark's comment lent much too much credence to his uncle's words. 

 

Jory stumbled over his words, “Thank you, my lord,” he managed to say.  _ What else could he say? _

 

Lord Stark smiled and squeezed his shoulder once more before moving away and taking seat behind his desk. The disturbed look had returned to Lord Stark's face. He sighed heavily, “This  _ business _ is disturbing...much will change in the coming days,” he stated grimly. “We were  _ dead _ ...and now we're not...Now we live again...it's  _ unnatural _ .”

 

The turmoil in his stomach turned into a cold feeling at Lord Stark's dark comment. His throat drying up as he asked, “How did we die?”  _ Was that even a proper question to ask? _

 

Lord Stark's head jerked up to look at him in surprise, “You don't remember?”

 

Jory shook his head, “No, my lord.”

 

Lord Stark paused and pursed his lips, his expression darkening further, “Sit down Jory, ”he commanded.

 

Jory sat as Lord Stark began his tale. With quick curt words, he explained how King Robert had came to name him Hand of the King. And all the betrayals that Lannisters had committed. 

 

It was  _ War _ .

 

War was  _ coming _ ...

 

The Queen's actions and Tywin Lannister's pride would broker nothing less. It was horrific combination and the Realm would bleed for it.

 

Lord Stark's face turned grimmer, as he gazed at Jory, “Martyn Cassel was a good man. You are your father's son. I _never_ questioned your loyalty before...and now I never _will_..but I would rather that you didn't share your father's fate. There are _too_ _few_ Cassels in the North for my peace of mind.”

 

Jory's back stiffened at his liege lord's words of praise, as he sat straighter in the chair. The turmoil he was feeling disbursed by the sense of pride that was overwhelming him now. 

 

“...Jory, for my sake and yours, for the debt that House Stark owes your father for his sacrifice by my side, whatever happens in the days to come...do _NOT_ cross swords with the Kingslayer.” Lord Stark finished gravely with a hard beseeching look.

 

Jory frowned,  _ the Kingslayer? _

 

... _ Oh _ . 

 

_ Killed by the Kingslayer...at Lord Stark's side? At least it wasn't a stupid death _ , he thought darkly as he sat and absorbed Lord Stark's words of warning. Jaime Lannister was among the greatest of swordsmen, it was no dishonor to fall before such an opponent, even if the man and the rest of his actions were dishonorable. 

 

His father had fallen to Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning. And he'd fallen to Jaime Lannister, the Lion of Lannister. It seemed being killed by renowned swordsmen had started to become something of a family tradition.

 

Sort of...

 

After a few moments of silence. Lord Stark rose, “See to the people Jory, calm them and assure them, we are in control. Then get some rest...I doubt the coming days will be restful.”

 

Jory rose at the command and dismissal, “Yes, Lord Stark”

 

He left the solar quickly, thoughts of the Kingslayer coming unbidden to his mind and haunting him. The siege of Pyke came readily to mind and what he'd seen of the man then. 

 

As he walked though the halls of Winterfell, he shook himself, shaking his head hard, coming to terms with all of Lord Stark's revelations. 

 

Was it natural to know who would kill him?

 

Probably not...

 

Lord Stark's other words came back to him.  _ Not enough Cassels, huh? Perhaps it's time to find a nice girl to settle down with as well?  _

 

With a silent prayer to the Old Gods, he moved forward with renewed vigor. He had duties to attend to. And a future to plan.

 


	3. Sallandhor Saan I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People on AH.com asked me about Salladhor Saan a while back, and this is my response to them :D

**Salladhor Saan I**

 

The slow swaying gently rocked him, as sleepiness clouded his mind. His heavy covers kept him warm as he lay in his soft bed.

 

He sighed and pulled the covers around him more, enjoyed the warm...it been so long since he'd been properly warm.

 

_Wait a minute..._

 

Salladhor Saan sat up hastily and blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

 

As his eyes cleared, surprise was the foremost feeling in his gut.

He was in his cabin on his ship. It was quite warm...warmer than he remembered it being for a while now. Almost like it was summer again...

 

Yet...he remembered the cold winds...the remorseless, relentless dead and how they had overrun the docks before they could cast off. The image of the broken corpse of the Westerlands knight that had cornered him came back to haunt him.

 

He shook himself, “It was just a dream...” he ran a hand over his eyes casting away the dark image, “Of the course the Others aren't real! The dead stay dead!” he laughed to himself. He ignored the hysterical edge that his laugh held...it was just a nightmare nothing more. A fucking disturbing nightmare, but still just a nightmare.

 

He threw off his covers with gusto and jumped off the bed. The day was starting and it was full of so many possibilities, he thought happily.

 

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

 

He stood on the bridge of his ship, proudly surveying his vessel as his men went about their tasks with efficiency and speed. He'd always run a tight ship and today was no different than other day. The men knew to work and not shirk their duties...or _else_.

 

His Second Mate was giving him a report, they were anchored off Braavos, they'd received the shipment of wines and spices they'd been waiting for and they would leave soon. Their contact would be waiting for them now in Lorath. It would be a short trip to Lorath from Braavos.

 

“Captain!” called out his First mate, cutting off the Second Mate's report.

 

Saan turned and smiled at the approaching man, his First mate was a good and solid man, he'd been with him for years now.

 

The first sign that something was wrong was that his first mate looked flustered and confused as he approached.

 

“What's gone wrong, now?” Saan asked with a frown and annoyed tone.

 

His First mate returned the frown, “Nothing today...” he took a deep shuddering breath and then asked deadly serious, “uh, Captain...didn't we all die?” His voice quivered with fear.

 

Saan's good mood came crashing down, “What?” he asked stunned.

 

“They...they caught us at dock, they overwhelmed us...” the First mate trailed off, a scared look on his face.

 

The Second mate turned to the First mate, his face filled disbelief and scorn, “What the bloody hells are you talking about?! _Who_?! How?!” he sputtered.

 

The First mate turned fearful eyes at Saan, but didn't answer.

 

“...the dead,” finished Saan as his stomach turned into a clenched fist. Dread filled him. It was just a dream...it had to be a dream!

 

His second mate was staring at them now as if they had gone mad... _which is as good a description as any for this situation!_ The part of Saan's mind that wasn't frozen in shock commented idly.

 

Questions quickly flew between Saan and his men. Soon enough he calling out to all of his crew demanding answers. Demanding to know if anybody else _remembered_...

 

Soon enough the turmoil and furor consumed him and his men, as those that remembered spoke with those that didn't. All work stopped as the men began speaking and arguing, each quickly talking about what they remembered- if anything.

 

By the end, the horrific truth was written on the faces of enough of his men as they crowded around Saan. Not many remembered, but enough to prove the awful, catastrophic truth. Every horrific minute of it.

 

It hadn't been a dream...it hadn't been a nightmare!

 

Every horrific second of it had been real! From Stannis Baratheon's failed attack on King's Landing, to Hardhome, dragons and beyond!

 

For the first time in a very long time, Saan was truly shaken.

 

Saan shook himself, it wouldn't do for the men to start doubting him now, he looked around and saw the wavering faces of his crew. Decisive action was needed.

 

“Do not worry!” he called out boldly, “However this has happened we are _lucky_ it has! We can save _ourselves_! We know where the enemy is! And when they are coming!”

 

“What about Davos?” his first mate suddenly called out.

 

“Fuck Davos! All he did was drag us all from one unwinnable war to another!” Saan declared with a scornful tone. He quickly came to a good decision. _A very good decision._ “We'll go as far away from Westeros as we can get!” he declared joyfully. “Yi Ti sounds far enough away, eh?” he roared out the question enthusiastically at his crew.

 

Most of his crew cheered...all except one.

 

As the cheering started to die down the man that hadn't cheered called out, “Uh...Cap...doesn't Yi Ti have their own stories of the army of the dead?” the crewmen asked pointedly, with a concerned look on his face, as he scratched nervously at his scraggly beard. “I met a Yi Tish trader once that told some tall tales about fighting the dead...”

 

Saan blinked then clapped his hands together, “Fuck Yi Ti then, the Summer Islands, it is...”

 

The cheering from his crew was louder this time.

 


	4. Alton Lannister

**Alton Lannister**

 

He'd been avoiding his cousin since Jaime returned to Casterly Rock....but it was unavoidable that they'd run into each other...eventually.

 

The fear of it was with him with every step he took in Casterly Rock. He avoided Jaime at every given turn; going out of his way to remain hidden in the lower floors and avoiding the family floors. The world had changed and chaos and madness were the norm now. The Dead and the Long Night were coming and that was all that was important now.

 

But he still remembered being a prisoner of the King in the North...he remembered just how brutally Jaime had _murdered_ him.

 

And there wasn't anything he could do about it. Tyrion was Lord of the Westerlands now, and it was well know that he only truly loved two members of the family. Gerion and Jaime...and Gerion was long lost to old Valyria.

 

So what was he suppose to do to protect himself? Keep hiding? Gather his things and run?

 

It ate at him every day, what is Jaime going to do to him when they meet?! What will he do to keep me _silent_?

 

Alton sighed deeply and unhappily as his stomach fluttered, the discomfort that had been with him since the first day getting worse. He continued walking down the dimly lit and empty corridor. He continued on his task, bringing messages to the master at arms. The corridor ended and he reached the stairs, going down two floors. He looked back and forth down the new corridor keeping an eye out for Jaime. He didn't see him and so he moved forward quickly. This floor was one more traveled than the previous one. He quickened his pace fearfully. He had to be quick about this. He looked behind him as he turned a sharp corner.

 

He came to sudden and uncomfortable stop as he bounced off something hard and unyielding. He blinked and then looked at what he had run into.

 

That was when the floor fell out from underneath him...his fear reaching all new heights.

 

“Watch where you're going!” Jaime Lannister's arrogant and angry voice ordered. He stood there the same as always, beautiful and arrogant. He was wearing Lannister red with the golden lion stitched across his chest. He was even wearing his sword on his belt.

 

A Lion for a Lion. One with very sharp and unforgiving claws.

 

“Umm...” he felt faint and his tongue weighed as much as a siege tower as he was confronted with his murderer.

 

The arrogant and angry look on Jaime's face was just as he remembered it. The prideful Lannister was just as prideful as always.

 

“...you should look where...” Jaime trailed off as his face suddenly turned white, “Alton...”

 

Alton flinched at his name, and gulped audibly, “Ser..Ja..Jaime,” he mumbled hesitantly.

 

A pained expression was painted on Jaime's face. The haughty look had completely disappeared. If that wasn't enough Alton thought he saw guilt there was well.

 

They stood there staring at each other and Alton was suddenly very fearful for his life as he realised that they stood alone in a very empty corridor.

 

Finally, Jaime broke the silence, he gave Alton an uneasy smile, “Sorry isn't really enough, is it?” Jaime stated in a pained tone.

 

Now Alton was bewildered...was his cousin, the arrogant Kingslayer trying to _apologize_? That almost sounded like an apology.

 

“Uh...” he still couldn't form words.

 

Jaime snorted, regaining some of his haughtiness, “I'm sorry I _murdered_ you,” he apologized in a deeply pained tone.

 

“Um...” nope, nothing to say. No words could be said as his tongue remained frozen with fear.

 

The haughtiness disappeared again and the guilt was written all over Jaime's face, as Alton continued to cower wordless in front of him. What could possibly be said in such a situation like this?

 

Jaime sighed uneasily, “You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you...not again. I have enough crimes I have to pay for, you're one less that I have to be guilty about now. One thing undone, one less I mistake in my very long list of mistakes....” he trailed off after a moment, “You're not going to say anything?”

 

Alton gulped fearfully, “Wha..what can I say?”

 

Jaime raised his hand to his brow and rubbed at it, “I'll talk to Tyrion. I took everything away from you last time, but now I can make it up to you...”

 

Alton blinked in surprise, _What's happening? I'm lost.._.

 

“...see to your duties, we're Lannisters, we pay our debts..and I owe you a debt that has weighed heavily on me for a very long time.” Jaime announced, evenly, the guilt looked frozen on his face. He nodded once and then walked away. His shoulders were slumped for some reason.

 

Alton stared after him till Jaime disappeared from his gaze. He blinked once at a complete loss.

 

_What just happened?_

 


	5. Alysanne Lefford I or How Bronn finally got his castle...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews! :) It's much appreciated. I've been planning this for a while.
> 
> ***Westerosi morals and standards are in effect here. Please bare this mind as you read...and that Bronn is an evil bastard with no heart.*** 
> 
> As always don't forget to review! :D

**Alysanne Lefford I or How Bronn finally got his castle...**

 

She was aware of the maneuvering that was happening around her. Lord Tyrion had been making overtures to her simplistic father...and Father had lapped up the attention from the new Lord Of Casterly Rock eagerly like a thirsty dog. The added confusion of him not remembering was not helping. He was still pompous and egotistical as always, if had remembered his death, it would have probably have tempered his pride. She shuddered as she thought of that possible future, as the Starks were apt to say, _Winter is Coming_. It had been ominous before...and much more so now she knew what the words truly spoke of.

 

She grunted in an unladylike manner as she walked through Casterly Rock, the visit here was dragging on as Lord Tyrion consolidated his hold on the Westerlands. It was all rather a simple matter, most of the Lords were pledging their loyalty with little noise. The fact that both the indomitable Lady Genna and loyal Ser Kevan had forsaken their own brother spoke volumes of how futile any further support for the Old Lion would be. Even Father had balked at voicing any objections as how complete Lord Tyrion's grip on the Rock was fully revealed.

 

Her thoughts came to an abrupt end as a man came to stand in her path. The man stood there with a pleasant but unwelcome smile on his lips. She knew him and grimaced inside, she'd been avoiding him.

 

“Ser Bronn,” she said in a neutral tone. The lowborn sellsword was wearing black leathers and looked the part of a lowborn man...but the knight had Lord Tyrion's confidence and was not someone to be crossed lightly, even if she was the heir of the Golden Tooth and House Lefford; the second richest house of the Westerlands.

 

And more importantly, he was the man that father and Lord Tyrion were trying to marry her to...

 

“Lady Alysanne,” he bowed with a smug smile in his face.

 

“Ser Bronn,” She nodded and made to walk past him but he moved into her path. She glared at him. “Did you want something, Ser?” she asked with a haughty tone.

 

“Aye. And you know what I want,” he retorted quickly with a nod, unmussed by her unwelcoming tone.

 

She stared back icily, “You are a lowborn sellsword and my father is Lord Leo Lefford of the Golden Tooth and-”

 

“...he lost his own castle didn't he? Not an impressive man is he? Made a mess of so many things didn't he? Not that I blame him much, even Tywin Lannister couldn't defeat the Young Wolf on the battlefield,” Bronn interrupted irreverently.

 

She grimaced, there was more truth to the insolent words than she was happy with, “I'm aware of the mess my father made of the defense of the Golden Tooth and the Westerlands.”

 

“Me- I'm good at all those things he's not so good at. Wouldn't be here if I _wasn't,_ ” Bronn retorted smugly.

 

She ground her teeth and glared again, “And?” she demanded.

 

Unexpectedly, he stepped very close to her before continuing. Much closer than was appropriate for an unmarried man and woman, he whispered, “I also know all about your  _ friend _ , Lady Tyra, that pretty little Handmaiden of yours.”

 

The expression on her face froze as she realised the full import of his emphasis. He stepped away from her and waited, giving her an expectant look and raised eyebrows.

 

She grit her teeth, and asked through clenched teeth, “What do you want?”

 

Slowly, his smug grin grew broader on his face, “I'm a reasonable man. I want what's owed to me. A title. A castle,” he paused and shrugged, “Beyond that I'm open to negotiation.” he paused again and added with a short chuckle, “Technically, I think I'm owed _two_ castles and two titles...but I'm not greedy, I'll settle for _one_ of each.”

 

She frowned at his audacity and insolence and then quickly looked around, thankfully they were alone in the corridor, before turning back and asking pointedly, “ _Negotiations_?”

 

“Simple, way I see it, no matter what happens you need an heir and Tyrion needs someone competent holding the Golden Tooth,” began Bronn quietly, “I get what I'm owed and you do _whatever_ you want behind closed doors.”

 

She looked at Bronn with a suspicious look, this sounded much to good to be true.

 

She gave him a dismissive look, “And what about your _needs_?”

 

He laughed, “That's what whores are for.”

 

Her lips twisted in distaste, but his words weren't wrong. She knew she had to marry, that was unavoidable, she was the heir. And even if she wasn't and she'd had other siblings, she still would have been forced into a marriage to some son of a noble house. Secrets could be kept but too many times, these secrets had the habit of being revealed at inopportune times. At least this way, it was one less person to hide from.

 

His words were direct and had merit. And he was already known to have kept the Lannisters' secrets. For a price of course, but he was trustworthy to a certain point. Very slowly she warmed to the idea, it was not an unattractive prospect...assuming they survived the Long Night. Quickly she came to a decision, she nodded, “You keep your whores private...no bastards. And I rule in all but name.”

 

Bronn gave her a saccharine smile, “I'll leave the honeyed words for you- and the boring stuff...I'll stick to killing our- and Tyrion's enemies.”

 

She extended her hand towards him, “I will speak to my father, for now...we have a deal.”

 

Bronn took the hand, but instead of shaking it in agreement, he brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles while giving her a smooth half-bow, “Yes, my lady, I think we do.”

 

She arched an eyebrow at his unexpected action, “At least I won't have to teach you too many manners,” she retorted smartly.

 

Bronn laughed, “I've been spending too much time with _fancy folk_.”

 

She arched an eyebrow at him, and said dryly, “You're about to _become_ fancy folk.”

 

Bronn just gave her a toothy smug smile in response, “ _I know_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this. In another fic I read, it was hinted that Alysanne was possibly gay, so I decided to explore it here as a lever that Bronn could lean on to get his castle. And please remember this is Westeros, this is a better arrangement than she could hope for under most circumstances. Anyway, don't forget to review! :)


	6. Melessa Tarly I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always liked Melessa for some reason (and Talla), which is why she has a chapter, even though it might seem a little pointless in her contribution to the story...

**Melessa Tarly**

 

Melessa fretted. She fretted and fretted. She'd been fretting since the day _everything_ had changed. She put on a brave front, but inside, her insides were constantly in turmoil.

 

That day she'd walked into the training yard and thought that Randyll was finally going to do something drastic to Sam...only to hear that her husband had already passed drastic and threatened to _murder_ Sam.

 

Her sweet Sam! Her kind and considerate boy!

 

She'd lost it and before she'd realised what she was doing slapped Randyll, right there in the middle of the training yard, in front of everyone. She shouted and screamed at him in anger and then slapped him again as he put Sam down for the millionth time.

 

She still wasn't sure who more surprised by her actions that day, her or Randyll...she'd never actually seen that expression on his face before.

 

The situation had escalated in the shouting match between father and son. The things they'd said had had her looking back and forth between them wondering just how mad they'd gone. Except both Talla and Dickon had shared their madness as well.

 

Then things had completely left the realm of sanity as loyal Ser Darvon and the other guards had imprisoned Randyll at Sam's command as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

“ _Mother!_ ”

 

She started and looked up, Talla was standing in front of her frowning, and she realised that she'd gotten lost in her thoughts again, she'd become so engrossed she'd dropped her sewing. She bent and picked it up. She'd been sitting and sewing in her rooms...more preparations for the coming Winter...which Sam had explained would be _far_ worse than anything she had ever imagined. Snarks and grumkins coming to kill them all.

 

She shivered and cast those dark thoughts away, and turned her attention to the young woman in the young girl's body who was standing in front of her waiting for her response.. Sweet little Talla was acting like a woman now...at least most of the time. She still indulged in small childish acts now and again.

 

“Did you want something my dear?” she asked sweetly.

 

Talla grinned and pulled out a scroll, “News from Sam.”

 

“What's happened now?” Melessa asked frowning in concern.

 

Talla smiled widely in response, “His plan worked.”

 

Melessa's heart skipped a beat or two, “Then he's...” she started suddenly breathless.

 

Talla nodded eagerly, “Sam's the new Lord Paramount of the Reach!” she crowed in joy, jumping up and down in her excitement.

 

Melessa blinked, her sweet, kind boy was Lord of the Reach now. The entire Reach! Such a strange new world this was now! When he'd shared his plans before leaving she'd thought he'd become delusional...except Lords Hightower _and_ Redwyne _and_ cousin Axell had backed him up...and now Sam really was Lord of the Reach in name and fact.

 

She shook herself, she was so proud of her Sam. She'd always known that he was going to do good things but this was...she shook her head again, as a small proud smile came to her lips.

 

She looked up and found Talla staring at her, biting her lower lip, the excitement in her eyes was something Melessa had seen before...every time Talla had unexpected good news to share.

 

“And...” Melessa prompted pointedly.

 

Talla's grin seemed to grow larger now, “Dickon's been betrothed to Margaery!” she shouted joyfully.

 

Her face went blank as her mind reeled at the sudden implications of Talla's words.

 

_Dickon is betrothed to Margaery Tyrell?_

 

But Loras Tyrell was dead...and this meant that...this meant that _Dickon_ would be the next Lord of _Highgarden_?!

 

Now she was truly stunned. Sam was Lord of the Reach...and Dickon was going to be Lord of _Highgarden_?!

 

House Florent had always been scheming to claim Highgarden and the Reach for their blood...and it was achieved by her sons with minimal effort? She didn't know whether her ancestors would be proud or pained at how easily this had happened now, when they'd failed so spectacularly over the centuries...

 

“Aren't you going to say anything?” Talla asked when Melessa didn't say anything in response.

 

Melessa shook herself, “I'm shocked, my dear. Happy- but shocked...I didn't know that Sam had such aspirations.” she stated in a surprised tone.

 

“He doesn't. But it doesn't matter, Dickon is going to marry Marge! She was always so lovely!” Talla bounced enthusiastically as she spoke.

 

Melessa nodded distracted. Talla wasn't wrong, Margaery was a good girl. And a much better match for Dickon than Melessa had _ever_ expected or dared imagine. An idea occurred to her and she shared it with Talla.

 

“I'm happy for Dickon, but wouldn't it make more sense for her to marry Sam? I'd have thought Lord Tyrell and Lady Olenna would have preferred that.” That way would have been more politically convenient for the Tyrells, wouldn't it have?

 

“Of course she wouldn't marry Sam, he has Gilly.” Talla said matter of factly.

 

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop, “ _Gilly_? Who's Gilly?” she questioned in surprise.

 

Talla beamed widely, “Sam found someone to love him just the way he is! Before he became like he is now. Timid, round, Sam had someone who loved him dearly, just as he was.” Talla paused for a second, a little unsure of herself, “Sam really should have told you about her before he left...” she paused for a moment cocking her head, “But he did have a lot on his mind.” She admitted with a shrug.

 

“ _Talla_. Who's Gilly?!” she repeated more forcibly.

 

Talla squirmed for a moment and then spoke, “He met her while he was in the Night's Watch...north of the Wall.”

 

_North of the Wall?!_ “A _Wildling_ girl...and my Sam?” Melessa sputtered in disbelief.

 

“She's kind and sweet. And they made such a cute couple!” Talla said with enthusiasm

 

Melessa's mind was reeling.

 

“...and she cleaned up so well. She looked better in my dresses than I did.” Talla smiled emphatically as she finished.

 

“A _Wildling_.” Melessa repeated evenly in disbelief.

 

Talla nodded, “They prefer being called Free Folk,” she added and then paused for second before becoming excited again, “ _Oh!_ And you don't remember little Sam! He was so cute!”

 

“Little Sam?” Melessa echoed not understanding.

 

Talla nodded again.

 

It took Melessa far too long for her to realise what exactly Talla meant by little Sam. A child. Sam's son. Her first grandson. With a Wildling- no, Free Folk girl.

 

She was happy that Sam found love in that other life...but he was Lord of the Reach now. He'd renounced his inheritance and was a man of the Night's Watch in that other life...though that carried a whole other set of problems with what Talla was telling her. But in this time, and this life, he was Lord of Horn Hill- and Lord the Reach as well! It wasn't proper for the Lord of the Reach to be associating with a Wildling. Oh, she was overjoyed that Sam found someone to truly love him and that fact endeared this Gilly to her far more than she expected to feel towards another woman, especially a Wildling, but things had changed now. Sam was Lord of Reach and certain standards were expected of him now.

 

“Uh...Mother?” Talla asked hesitantly.

 

“It's obvious that your brother and I need to have some words about what is appropriate to his new rank,” she stated testily.

 

Talla looked alarmed now, “He's the Lord of the Reach now! You can't be mad at him!” she defended her brother.

 

Melessa sniffed haughtily, “We will see.” She would have words with Sam when he got back.

 


	7. Randyll Tarly I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short Tarly POV, just because, before I get back to writing the next chapter of the main story.

 

**Randyll Tarly I**

 

He seethed and seethed as he paced. It was all he did these days. Locked away and forgotten in his own castle! Betrayed by his blood and his own bloody men!

 

Ser Darvon, that traitorous bastard had sold him out!

 

He fumed, his days were all the same. Locked away and powerless. Ignored by the guards and the servants except when they came to bring him food or clean his rooms. To add insult to injury, the only thing he had to distract himself were the  _ books _ that Samwell had had put in the room. The windows of the room were barred and all he could do was just catch glimpses of the out side through small cracks.

 

The days had been the same till he'd glimpsed Hightower and Redwyne  _ and _ Florent banners from cracks in his window but he'd heard no fighting. He'd expected they'd come for him sent by the Tyrells. Lady Olenna would be out for blood for his betrayal, but that didn't explain the Florent banners. His goodfamily had supported Stannis...why would they stand with the Tyrells close kin now? After a few days, he'd heard the commotion as they'd marched away, now accompanied by Tarly banners. 

 

It made no sense...not that much was making sense these days.

 

The sound of his door opening caused him to turn around in surprise. It was too early for his meal they'd just cleaned his rooms this morning.

 

His surprise turned to scorn as Ser Darvon walked in.

 

“What do you want, traitor?” he spat angrily.

 

Ser Darvon returned the scornful look undaunted, “Nothing.”

 

He frowned again till he saw Talla entering behind the traitorous knight.

 

“Talla.” said Randyll in surprise. This was the first time he'd seen her since the training yard that maddening morning. This was the _first_ time he'd seen _any_ of his family since that day.

 

“I'm here to make sure you don't do anything rash,” Ser Darvon said in the same scornful manner.

 

He turned to Ser Darvon tersely, “And you think I'd hurt my own daughter?” scoffed Randyll.

 

“You've already threatened to murder Lord Samwell. I'm not taking any chances.” he retorted, questioning Randyll's honor, not budging an inch in his defiant stance.

 

Randyll ground his teeth at the barb. He glared back angrily.

 

“Thank you, Ser Darvon, I can manage this,” Talla said interrupting their standoff.

 

Ser Darvon turned to her and bowed, “Yes, Lady Talla.” He stepped back and took up a protective position by the wall. Silently watching them both. 

 

Talla turned to her father and her eyes were hard, filled with anger, “I'm still mad at you. The  _ only _ reason I'm here is because Sam asked me to tell you the news,” her voice filled for contempt for him, “And mother's still hopping mad about what you tried to do.”

 

“What news?” he asked with an arrogant sneer, getting straight to the point, ignoring what Talla said about Melessa. Despite everything, he was greatly starved for news. For anything that would explain what happened with the visiting Lords.

 

Talla looked him straight in the eye and said without preamble said, “Sam is Lord Paramount of the Reach now.”

 

The sneer disappeared. He couldn't have heard Talla right. His brow furrowed in confusion, “What?”

 

Talla rolled her eyes insolently at him, “Sam's Lord of the Reach.” 

 

Randyll blinked, “What?”

 

“He's Lord of the Reach and Warden of the South,” Talla repeated crossly.

 

Randyll found a seat and sat down heavily.  _ What?! His fat cowardly slug of a son...Lord of the Reach?! How in the Seven Hells did that happen? _

 

“How?” He demanded breathlessly of Talla.

 

She waved her hands around, “This was all a part of their plan. Including making Sam Lord of the Reach... _ again _ .”

 

“ _Again_?” he echoed the word in disbelief.

 

Talla nodded and continued, “And Dickon is betrothed to Margaery Tyrell now...oh and Ser Loras died in King's Landing. So Dickon's going to be next Lord of Highgarden as well.”

 

He gaped for a moment, before remembering himself, Dickon...Lord of Highgarden?

 

“...And we're swearing fealty to the Targaryens again.”

 

His surprise disappeared and his sneer returned, “So, my fool of son will bend the knee to a foreign whore and her  _ savages _ and  _ slaves _ ?” he spat contemptuously.

 

“No, to the King in the North. Jon Snow. He's actually Jon Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen's trueborn son by Lyanna Stark,” Talla added. She paused and gave him a wide smile, “He's also Sam's best friend from their time in the Night's Watch.”

 

He was caught flat footed and it felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. Rhaegar Targaryen's...son?! Randyll stared incredulously at Talla. 

 

Talla didn't wait for his surprise to abate, “Lord Stark hid and protected his nephew. And now we're all swearing fealty to him.”

 

He sat very still trying to get his mind around all that Talla had just thrown at him. A Targaryen prince, hidden in Winterfell. Raised by Eddard Stark...a proper Westerosi Lord, raising the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

 

Unlike Daenerys...this was actually quite...acceptable. If he wasn't imprisoned in his own castle, he could and would have backed such a King against the Baratheons. The North and Riverlands would also back such a King.

 

_ And Dickon! _ His pride and joy..the next Lord of Highgarden?!

 

The pragmatic part of his soul grudgingly whispered that Sam was doing absurdly well for their House. 

 

“How...is all this happening...why? And why would the Tyrells allow this?!” he managed to say through his surprise as he finally found his voice again.

 

Talla and Ser Darvon blinked. They shared a look.

 

“Didn't Sam tell him?” she asked Ser Darvon.

 

Ser Darvon blinked again and then looked chagrined, “Uh...no he hasn't told him.”

 

Talla let out a disgruntled sigh and turned back to her still reeling father, “The Others are real and coming to kill us all.”

 

Randyll blinked before snorting with disdain, “The Others? That is a northern legend! It's not real!” he denied, even as a small part of him wondered about the truth of it. The Wildling girl had claimed that Sam had killed a White Walker. And now...he'd been dead and yet he was alive again...why wouldn't the monsters be real as well? Was it possible that the fat coward had actually done that?

 

“Whether you believe it or not, I've done what Sam asked of me. I'm leaving now,” Talla said with contempt, she didn't spare her father another glance as she turned and left.

 

He stared after her retreating form, getting lost in his thoughts again.

 

His thoughts were interrupted as Ser Darvon paused at the door and turned back to look at Randyll, “Lord Randyll, Lord Samwell is a different man now. By the time of his death, Lord Samwell was very much the son you'd always wished for. He died with  _ Heartsbane _ in his hand crossing sword with the Night's King himself,” Ser Darvon paused and looked mournful, “He died even as I struggled to come to his side.”

 

Randyll stared unbelieving at Ser Darvon, but the man didn't say anything else. He just turned and left, closing and locking the door behind him. He left Randyll alone with his reeling thoughts, trying to come to terms with just how much this world changed in what felt like an eyeblink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked this. So this is basically Sam rubbing salt into Randyll's wounded pride ;D :D As always don't forget to review! :D


	8. Nyla I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a scene that EVERYONE has wanted to see ;):D The perspective is from an OC character. Whether or not she appears again later will be the subject of discussion. 
> 
> On another note, writing this chapter was like pulling teeth for some reason, hopefully the coming chapters won't take as long. Also, I've decided to wait on updating the main storyline of the Raven's Plan till the end of season 8. In the meantime I will be focusing on some chapters I've had planned for Conversations for a long time.

**Nyla I**

 

She was running.

 

All she could do was run and run and run. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her. She ran as if there was a demon behind her. The man that was pursuing her was a demon. A bastard and butcher. The hounds' barking came nearer and and all thoughts fled from her. She ran faster. Branches scratched her face as she pushed through a low hanging branch. The pain only sparked new panic in her. She had to get away from the demon.

 

More barking came. The sound of his cursed hounds.

 

She could only hear the hounds barking and the thunder of her heart in her chest trying to escape. She tried to run faster. She crossed though another thicket and stumbled as her foot got caught on a root. She lost her balance and waved her arms through the air frantically trying to regain her balance. A tree appeared in front of her and her head bounced off it painfully. The world went dark and then the air was driven from her lungs as she rebounded and hit the ground.

 

She lay on the ground gasping for breath trying to gather her thoughts, waiting for her eyes to clear. When she could finally see again, it was a hellish scene that was in front of her.

 

She froze with fear as she found herself surrounded by three snarling hounds. Their master stood a few yards away proudly looking down at her. It was the beastly man, Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton's bastard son. His cold blue eyes shone with cruelty that was matched by the woman that stood at his side. Myranda was the kennel master's daughter, cruel and snide with everyone she spoke with. She'd always avoided her as much as possible while serving in the Dreadfort.

 

But she couldn't understand why they were doing this! She'd done nothing to them! She'd always avoided them! Strange things happened to those that didn't avoid them! She thought in a panic.

 

She prayed to the Old Gods for help.

 

“You little whore...always thinking yourself so much better than everyone,” Myranda spat in derision.

 

She couldn't understand why this was happening. The strange and confusing turn of events that had led her to this deadly fate.

 

She shook her head frantically, “I'm not. I didn't do _anything_!” she plead in a panic.

 

Myranda sneered at her, “Shut your lying mouth!” she screamed angrily.

 

Her mouth closed with a click of teeth as she flinched away from the irate mad woman.

 

“You've given us such a _fun_ run, but we do have other things to do,” cut in Ramsay as he gave Myranda a smoldering smile. He then hefted his bow, nocking and aiming an arrow at Nyla.

 

“Come now my love, where's the fun in that?” Myranda asked coyly. She turned back to face Nyla and gave her a spine chilling grin that promised a slow painful death, “We can have fun _here_...and then later...more _fun_ , there's enough time for us to do both.”

 

He seemed to think for a moment and then returned her cruel smile, “Ah, of course, my dear. But where are my manners...after you my lady,” Ramsay said in mock respectful manner with a low laugh. He lowered his bow and grabbed Myranda and gave her a forceful kiss.

 

They broke part, Myranda pushed him away with a shove, “Later,” she promised him. She turned back towards Nyla and gave her a jeering expectant look, “First, it's time for _another_ kind of fun.”

 

The bastard laughed again.

 

Myranda slowly came towards her, each step steady and unyielding, the promise of violence in her cruel blue eyes.

 

“No...please...” Nyla begged, sobbing, “ _Please_... _mercy_...”

 

Myranda's smile just got wider as she heard Nyla's pleas, “I'm going to enjoy _this_.” she paused for a moment before continuing, “And I going to take my time.”

 

Myranda stepped forward, a small number of paces separated her from Nyla now, she unsheathed a knife and gave Nyla a toothy mean smile. She took another step forward, coming to stand amongst the snarling hounds.

 

One of the hounds turned from Nyla, and in a flash suck it's teeth into Myranda's leg.

 

“ _AAHH!!_ ” she screamed in surprise and pain. She fell painfully to her knees, losing her grip on her knife, before the hound pulled her leg out from under her, he face slamming into the ground painfully. The second hound sunk his teeth into her arm and began tearing the flesh. The third went for her neck as she lay prone being shaken by the hounds.

 

Blood spattered and Myranda's cries turned into pained gurgles.

 

“ _NO!_ What are you doing! Stop! _Stop! I said STOP!_ ” she heard Ramsay scream in a panicked rage.

 

An arrow whistled through the air and went through the neck of one of the hounds. He nocked a second arrow and loosed it just as quickly and a second hound fell.

 

The third hound let go of Myranda and jumped away from where the other hounds had fallen. It turned and growled at Ramsay, it barked twice then continued snarling as it paced towards him, Ramsay held back his third arrow for some reason.

 

Nyla looked back and forth at the absurd scene in front of her.

 

Myranda's panicked dead eyes stared up at her now, blood covering her. The surprise was still written all across Myranda's face. The corpses of two of the hounds were splayed out where they had fallen, blood pooling around them.

 

While Ramsay was still staring down the final hound, “ _Down girl!_ ” he commanded, his bow, held steady and at the ready, his eyes locked on the third hound.

 

The hound snarled again and bared it's teeth ignoring his commands, stalking him. They stood there stared down each other for a breath...stalemated.

 

The stalemate ended with a suddenness that surprised Nyla.

 

The hound suddenly ran at him, growling, and then jumped at him just he loosed his third arrow. The snarling turned into pained yelps as the arrow found it's target. The hound fell and rolled across the ground, coming to rest in a bleeding, dying heap. It whimpered piteously and then went silent.

 

Ramsay looked at the fallen hound in confusion, his blue eyes bewildered by what had happened with his hounds and Myranda. His eyes began manically going back and forth between the corpses around them, as if he was trying to understand what had just happened...not that Nyla understood either, how things had changed so quickly. He shook his head, as if to clear it. And then suddenly he turned towards her.

 

“ _What did you do, you bitch?! You filthy whore! What did you do to my hounds?!_ ” he screamed at her, nearly hysterical. His blue eyes aflame with madness as he stepped towards her.

 

She shook her head, too stunned and scared to do more than that.

 

“ _What did fucking you do?!_ ” he screamed again, spittle flying from his mouth.

 

She shook her head again frantically. She quivered in fear as Ramsay dropped his bow and pulled out a skinning knife. She cried out for mercy, but he kept coming, screaming accusations and curses.

 

A growling shadow rose behind Ramsay and he froze. The angry look disappeared and the confusion was back. He started to turn around, but a massive brown paw clubbed him across the neck and he went sprawling to the ground.

 

She got a good look at the shadow then. The paw belonged to a very large brown bear. The bear came down with all of it's weight onto the sprawled Ramsay. She heard the crunch of bones breaking and then Ramsay was screaming. The Bear roared and raised a paw to bat at Ramsay. Blood flew through the air and then the bear lowered its head and there was a wet squishing noise as Ramsay's screams of pain turned into loud gurgles. The bear's head came up it's powerful jaws filled with Ramsay's flesh. The bear swallowed and then bent down for another another bite.

 

She stared at the gruesome scene in front of her. The bear eating Ramsay. The dead hounds and Myranda's still warm corpse.

 

She laughed hysterically, overcome by the absurdity of it all. She'd been saved from Ramsay, the beastly man, and now she'd be eaten by the beast who ate the beastly man. The bear would finish with the bastard and turn on her next.

 

Her heart thundered in her chest as time passed, and the moment of her doom approached. The bear raised it's head from the remains of Ramsay, it's muzzle stained red with blood. It's eyes came to focus on her, and she knew it was the end.

 

The bear turned fully away from it's meal and stepped towards her, rising up on it's hindquarters to it's full height. It looked down at her, shook it's head once, and then raised one paw. She frowned in confusion, it wasn't approaching. It was just standing there with it's paw outstretched to the side. After a very long moment, she gasped in stunned disbelief as she realised what it was doing. It was pointing back towards the village. She blinked in surprise, not understanding what was happening. One finger of the paw was blatantly raised, and was definitely pointing back to towards the path to the village.

 

She stared dumbly at it in incomprehension.

 

The bear huffed in annoyance and shook it's paw again.

 

True understanding finally came to her... _it was the Old Gods!_ They'd heard her prayers and answered them! The Old Gods had turned the hounds against their masters! They'd sent the bear to save her! And now the bear was telling her to go home!

 

Trembling, she rose to her feet, her eyes not leaving the bear's far too human eyes. She could see the intelligence in them now, even as blood dripped from it's muzzle.

 

“Thank you...” she mumbled in awe.

 

The bear shook it's paw impatiently. And she nodded and took off back to the village, muttering prayers to the Old Gods with every pained step she took away from what should have been her death.

 

She cast back one look at the bear, and found it bent over the beastly man, feasting on his flesh. It was a true, and just end for such a monster.

 

She gave one final sigh of relief and hobbled slowly back to her village.

 


	9. Tomard I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here have another chapter! :)

**Tomard I**

 

Life in Winterfell had taken a strange turn recently.

 

Magic abounded and people were acting strangely. 'Course coming back from the dead would do that to a person. Not that he remembered anything that had happened before. Varly and Hullen would tell him, they'd gone to King's Landing and died there along with everyone else including Lord Stark.

 

_Fucking Lannisters._

 

And yet life went on in Winterfell. Guards patrolled the grounds. Guarded the gates. Dealt with the odd brawl or thief in Winter Town. Though things were much calmer these days, with everyone busy preparing for Winter.

 

And of course, they had a new King.

 

Jon Snow- or rather Jon _Targaryen_.

 

And wasn't that a bloody fucking surprise. Dour young Jon, the king of the seven bloody kingdoms...and the Others were coming to kill them all...because there hadn't been enough surprises already!

 

It was enough to make a man go mad!

 

He sighed and shook his head, everything had changed in the blink of an eye.

 

“What?” asked Varly, who was sharing his duty in the armory of Winterfell.

 

“Nothing,” he retorted.

 

“Then why were you sighing?” Varly prodded.

 

“Can't a man just sigh?” He growled back.

 

Varly gave him a suspicious look and then just shrugged, turning away from him.

 

That was another thing, the suspicion. Everyone was so bloody suspicious these days. People were seeing threats everywhere. Being betrayed in King's Landing and then the Red Wedding had made everyone suspicious.

 

The gods damned Red Wedding. His blood ran cold every single time he tried to imagine Lady Stark and Robb being murdered. That the fucking Freys would _dare_ break guest rights. He didn't like to think how they felt about that. Robb was a good lad and hadn't deserved such a fate.

 

_Fucking Freys._

 

He sighed again.

 

This time Varly just cast him an unamused look but didn't say anything.

 

He ignored Varly and cast those unpleasant thoughts away and focused on his duty, they were in the armory standing guard, and they were only half-way through their shift.

 

The shift continued on and on. It all so boring. Men came. Men left. Some with weapons, some without.

 

The monotony was broken up when one the Manderly men he knew, Wallis, came in. The talked a bit. About weapons, the ale in Winter Town, and Ros. Glorious Ros, and her big soft tits.

 

As they talked he noticed a small figure looking through the racks of weapons. It was Arya Underfoot, trying to get up to no good, doubtlessly.

 

“Hey! What have I said before?” he walked up to her and then bodily picked her up without waiting for a response. She squirmed in his grasp, but he didn't let go.

 

He carried her all the way out of the armory. He put here down outside and glared down at her, “No playing around in the armory,” he declared gruffly to Arya, baring her path back into the armory.

 

He laughed, at least one person hadn't changed. He watched as she glared at him and then stuck out her tongue at him before racing away to probably get into more mischief. He laughed to himself and walked back to Wallis.

 

He found Wallis standing there staring at him, pale and with wide horrified eyes. Wallis was also slowly backing away from him.

 

He frowned at the man, “What? Can't let little Underfoot get into trouble here.”

 

“That's Arya Stark.”

 

“And?”

 

“ _That's Arya Stark,_ ” Wallis repeated dumbly, his eyes filled with fear.

 

Tomard rolled his eyes at him and gave him an 'are you stupid look', “ _So?_ Have you any idea how much trouble Arya Underfoot would have caused if I let her mess around in the armory? Lord and Lady Stark would have my head!” he huffed with annoyance.

 

Wallis just kept staring at him, unblinking and aghast. He shook his head once and then slowly backed away.

 

Tomard frowned at the Manderly man's actions and shook his head at the man's stupidity. You never let little girls mess around in the armory, that was just common sense. He turned back to his duties...or at least tried to.

 

He found that every other guard in the armory was giving him the same stare that Wallis had been giving him. The aghast look was on the faces of every last Manderly and Reed man around him. The other Stark men were looking between him and them just as confused as he was now.

 

“What?” he demanded in confusion.

 

Nobody answered him, instead they all just turned back to their tasks, ignoring him. He shared a glance with Varly, but he just shrugged, just as confused as Tomard was.

 

He ignored it and got back to work, but over the next few days, Tomard found that only the other Stark men were talking to him.

 

All the Manderly and Reed men avoided him like he'd gotten Greyscale.

 


	10. Tomard II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews! And Kudos to Natzo at fanfiction.net for putting this idea in my head. Hope you all enjoy it! This is also a little something to cleanse our minds of that joke of a finale we all suffered through....ugh....trying to forget it now. Anyway, don't forgot to review! :D 
> 
> Now I'm off to write the next chapter of the main story! ;D

**Tomard II**

 

He was sitting down now, in the barracks, eating his meal with a mug of ale, enjoying his rest. He was finally off his aching feet now. He sat at the end of a bench at the table, in the guards' barracks. The men nearest him were other Stark men, the visiting Manderly and Reed men were sitting as far away from him as possible.

 

Things had not been right since his encounter with Arya Underfoot, in the armory. Wallis was still avoiding him, ever since that day in the armory. Seeing the men treating Little Arya differently was his first sign that things had really changed. The Manderly and Reed men seemed to be.... _cautious_ with her- and not because she the Lord Stark's daughter...there was something more there. Though she wasn't treating him any differently. The little tricks that she'd always played continued. She'd gotten hellishly good at leaving surprises for him. Things going missing and then reappearing in places he knew he'd never left them. There was no way that he would ever have left his _sword_ in the _Great Hall_.

 

Ser Rodrick had been apoplectic with rage with him when that had happened. He'd cursed him out and laid out punishment duty like nothing that Tomard had _ever_ seen before. Not that Tomard could blame him. A guard getting drunk enough to forget his sword in the Great Hall? Yeah, that was never going to pass quietly. It had been one shit duty after another from Ser Rodrick for that...even if it wasn't his fault. What could he do? Blame a little girl? Blame their liege's daughter? And admit that a little girl had taken his sword from him without him _noticing_?!

 

He snorted, yeah that wasn't happening. He'd taken all the punishment without a word, only giving Arya glaring looks whenever he'd passed her while no one was looking.

 

At least the day was ending now, and he didn't have guard duty tonight...maybe go visit Ros for a bit? That last time, he'd visited had been the best yet, apparently she'd learned a few things in King's Landing in her last life. Though she was swearing up and down that she was never leaving Winterfell again, not for anything. He'd asked why, but she'd just cursed up a storm, cursing Mockingbirds, Spiders and the inbred little shit, Joffrey. Why Mockingbirds? Spiders he could understand, nobody liked spiders. And Joffrey- well fuck him, they'd have his head on a spike soon enough.

 

He shrugged and shook his head, _women_...there was no understanding them.

 

Speaking of women...or rather little girls. The most recent bane of his life was approaching him now. She was walking slowly towards him with both her hands behind her. She was carrying something but he couldn't tell what.

 

She came to a stop next to him, he glowered at her as she gave him an embarrassed smile.

 

“I talked to Ser Rodrick, he knows it was me and not you,” she said evenly, “And he wants to talk to you, about your duties...but after you finish your meal.”

 

He glared again at her, and huffed angrily. He didn't say anything.

 

Whatever she was holding behind her back, she brought it out now. It was a heavy bowl, with some sort of pie...it was probably another prank.

 

She smiled at him sweetly, “Consider this my apology and a peace offering. I know I took it a little far with the sword,” she admitted apologetically, “I'm sorry,” she finished contritely.

 

He glared at her again, “ _A little far_.” he deadpanned unhappily, before giving the pie a suspicious look. He looked back at her with narrowed eyes, his glare undiminished.

 

She placed the pie in front of him and then produced two spoons. She held one out to him, which he gingerly took. She held up her spoon and then took a spoonful of the pie. She ate the spoonful without any hesitation and gave him an innocent look as she chewed.

 

Still suspicious, he slowly raised his spoon and dipped it in the pie. Just as slowly, he brought the spoon closer and eyed the piece of pie. It looked normal enough- it looked like some sort of berry pie.

 

Arya swallowed and gave him a toothy smile, waiting for him to taste the pie.

 

Gingerly, he brought the spoon to his lips. It didn't taste strange, he chewed and chewed as the flavor exploded in his mouth, “Blueberry?” he mumbled as he chewed.

 

She nodded happily.

 

He swallowed it and licked his lips, as apologies went this one was _delicious_. He took another spoon of the pie and made Arya wait as he enjoyed the flavorful pie. This was a quality pie, like something that the cooks made for feasts. As apologies went, this was...acceptable.

 

He gave her a rueful smile, _who could stay mad at little Underfoot?_ “Fine, fine, you're forgiven,” he admitted gruffly.

 

Her smile grew, “I promise not to take it this far... _next time_ ,” she stated cheekily, before turning and walking away.

 

He eyed her as she quietly left, taking another spoonful of the delicious pie. Yes, little Arya Underfoot had changed, but she was still _Arya_.

 

He turned back to the other men as he chewed the delicious pie, and found that this time, the few Manderly and Reed men that were sharing his table were now, _to a man,_ very, _very_ green faced. Many of them seemed to be gagging and retching. Tomard knew the sight of men fighting to keep from spewing. And they all looked that way now.

 

He scowled at them all, “What the fuck is the matter with all of you?! It's just fucking Blueberry pie!” He ignored them angrily and kept the rest of the pie for himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He he and Arya's antics continue :D For those wondering, yes he'll find out soon enough, what all the fuss is about :D 
> 
> As always don't forget to review! :D


	11. Tomard III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! It's all much appreciated :) This is probably the final Tomard POV. 
> 
> The song 'Rock of Doom' is courtesy of Pennsylvania on AH.com. Thank you for saving me the trouble of writing it! :D 
> 
> As always Enjoy and Comment!:)

**Tomard III**

 

The day started as any other. Breaking his fast with the other guards. Their duties given out to them by Ser Roderick. Nothing new, the same as yesterday and the day before.

 

And then people began arriving at Winterfell.

 

First the Onion Knight- who is now, some how, Hand of the bloody King now, then Barristan fucking Selmy himself, then Wildlings! _Wildlings_! Wildlings that were welcomed into Winterfell! What the fuck?! Since when were Wildlings friends? Two of them had actually been slain by Robb and Theon in the first life! Though the third, Osha, the spearwife, had actually saved Bran and Rickon. So everyone was glad to welcome _her_ , including Tomard. Wildling or not, that made her alright and welcome in his book. Then Tully men showed up with prisoners. He'd missed the last arrival, but he'd heard rumors of _Freys_ in Winterfell. They brought even more outlandish rumors as well with them, something about the story of the Rat King being true. Others about Faceless Men in Westeros. Most didn't make sense.

 

Though maybe he'd get some answers now, a Tully man was sitting opposite him in the barracks enjoying the evening meal with them.

 

“Hey, you brought the new prisoners?” Tomard asked.

 

“Aye, gift's from Lord Edmure,” the Tully man answered. He paused and gave Tomard a look, “I'm Desmond.”

 

Tomard nodded, “Tomard,” he introduced himself, “Who'd you bring?” he asked making conversation.

 

“Lothar Frey,” he spat the new in disgust, “He's the one that murdered the Queen, Talisa Stark and her unborn child,” he further explained in disgust, “He'll die soon enough. The other one is Lord Robb's traitorous little squire, Olyvar. He's for Lord Robb's judgment.”

 

Tomard's own anger ignited now, dark deeds indeed! He sneered angrily, “Fucking Freys.”

 

“Aye, fucking Freys,” Desmond agreed vehemently.

 

Murmurs of agreement echoed from the others had the table, irrespective of which house they were sworn to.

 

Next to him, Varly spoke up, “I heard that Lord Edmure killed all the Freys.”

 

Desmond snorted, “I wish. Just the ones that took part in the godsdamned Red Wedding.”

 

The man next to Desmond cut in, “Hey Ser Stevron was innocent _and_ he died for the Young Wolf fighting the Lannisters. He didn't deserve to die with the rest of his traitorous kin.”

 

Desmond sighed and grimaced, “And Lord Edmure is marrying Lady Roslin...again.”

 

Tomard let out an annoyed snort, “Why the hells would he do that?”

 

Desmond shrugged, “Damned if I know. Even if she is a cute little thing...there has got to be better Ladies then her,” he finished in annoyance.

 

Tomard took a bite from his meal and thought over all that Desmond had said. Quiet descended on the table for a while before one of the Riverlanders began singing, and before long all them joined in as everyone else watched and listened.

 

_House Frey had stained themselves in blood_  
when they had broke Guest Right,  
Lord Walder Frey slew King Robb Stark  
in his own halls one night.  
  
Then Arya Stark, avenging blood,  
baked two Freys in a pie,  
slew Walder Frey, poisoned his sons,  
and left them all to die!  
  
With judgment like a Rock of Doom  
the Starks and Tullys tell  
that Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
Yes, Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
  
When Brandon Stark brought us from Death,  
by turning back time's wheel,  
Edmure Tully called Frey's sons forth,  
and ordered them to kneel.  
Black Walder and Lothar came forth,  
the worst of Lord Frey's gang,  
of them, plus one, the Starks will judge,  
the rest the Tullys hang!  
  
With judgment like a Rock of Doom  
the Starks and Tullys tell  
that Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
Yes, Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
  
"And who are you," Black Walder said,  
"that I must bow so low?  
As an Anointed Knight, of me,  
Trial by Combat's owed!"  
Lord Edmure threw him to the ground,  
and beat that cursed sot,  
then grabbed a stone and crushed his head,  
and killed him on the spot!  
  
With judgment like a Rock of Doom  
the Starks and Tullys tell  
that Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
Yes, Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!

 

His eyes were wide and he gaped at the Riverlanders as they finished singing, _little Underfoot killed a Frey? Maybe more than one?_ “Which one did Lady Arya kill?” he asked in surprise of Desmond

 

Desmond gave him a big satisfying smile before answering, “ _All of them,_ ” he laughed loudly, “Every last fucking one of them.”

 

Tomard gaped, “All of them?”

 

Desmond nodded, a gleeful expression on his face.

 

“What did you mean _baked two Freys in a Pie_?” Varly added in a perplexed tone.

 

_Baked? Pie?_ Thought Tomard is surprise, he'd missed that part.

 

“Lady Arya killed Black Walder and Lame Lothar and baked them into a pie...which she fed to Walder Frey, before killing him,” Desmond explained with a satisfied smile, “The next day she poisoned them all and then walked out proudly declaring that _Winter came for House Frey_!”

 

“Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person or house,” added another Riverlander enthusiastically.

 

The rest of Riverlanders started laughing nastily at that.

 

They may have said more but Tomard wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring of blood in his ears. _Little Underfoot had done what?!_

 

He swallowed fearfully, there was vengeance and then there was what she did. Suddenly, the wariness of the Manderly and Reed men made _so_ much sense.

 

He looked around him and found Varly pale and gaping at Desmond, “How the fuck did she do _that_?! Didn't...didn't anyone notice _anything_? She killed their lord? _And no one noticed?_!”

 

Desmond's smile turned even wider, “No.”

 

“How the fuck did she mange that?!” Tomard exploded in disbelief. The Freys were know for their incompetence but not to notice your own liege Lord was _dead_?!

 

Desmond shrugged, “It's easy when you're a Faceless Woman,” he said offhandedly, not understanding what the issue was.

 

No. Because...no. Just no. Because Arya Underfoot was a Faceless Woman. An unstoppable assassin of unparalleled skill and competence.

 

The silence in the barracks was deafening as the Riverlanders smiled and the Stark men stared, just like Tomard not believing their ears.

 

Tomard stumbled out of his seat, leaving Varly and the Riverlanders behind. Numb with shock and forgetting the rest of his meal, he stumbled out of the suddenly very stuffy barracks and into the clear and chilly night air.

 

He broke into a cold sweat. She'd baked _him_ a pie. No no...no one he knew was dead...he shook himself. She wouldn't do something like that to him...right?

 

His mind was aflame with the revelations, _how in the name of the Old Gods and the New did Little Underfoot become a Faceless Man?!_

 

In his mind's eye he saw her, the little girl he knew, her smiling face staring up at him, innocent and friendly. The pranks, the mischief she always got up to.

 

How did one reconcile _that_ with what the Riverlanders were saying about her?

 

And the Manderly and Reed men had known! And they'd kept silent! No wonder they'd been so wary of her!

 

Arya Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface...was a Faceless Man.

 

And it terrified Tomard.

 


End file.
